Sunday, April 8, 2012

My Magical Son - Happy Birthday Connor

Just a little over a week after Easter in 1997, on April 8th,
I was told to go to the hospital, and that would be the birthday for our beautiful baby boy. I had been having
contractions on and off for a few weeks, but every time I went to the hospital,
they only sent me home because I wasn’t progressing. Even though I had a
C-section with Micaela, I had hoped to try natural. Well, I wasn’t progressing because Connor wasn’t
positioned right. It just had to be his way, and his way would be
another C-section.

Something told me to ask for another anesthetist, but I didn’t,
trusting that those in the hospital were skilled. Always, always trust your intuition.
Apparently the anesthetist didn’t have a clue what he was doing and after two
times of botching up the spinal, and only my legs going numb (and severe pain),
a fight broke out in the surgery room with the staff screaming, yelling and
throwing things at one another, and me sitting bent over the operating table (with contractions), holding back tears of fear. Finally, another nurse took over and the spinal
took and my (then) husband was ushered in.

We had decided to name the baby boy Drake Connor, but since
he was born around Easter, the family joked that they were going to call him ‘Duckie’
and images of the character from Pretty
in Pink ran through my head, so unbeknownst to our family, we did a last minute name change to
Connor Drake.

8 pounds, 11 ounces and 20 inches long, the nurses
handed Connor over to me in the recovery room. I was doped up with pain
medication and kept falling asleep with him in my arms, making me worried that
I would drop him. But his even temper and quiet demeanor shined from that first
moment on. It was when I was holding him in the recovery room was when Connor’s father told me that our baby boy had a cleft palate. I hadn’t a clue what that meant or what it
entailed, all I knew was that he had ten fingers and ten toes and was beautiful. It was when they handed me a bottle to feed
when I realized that something was wrong.
They told me that they were going to have to transfer him to Children’s
Hospital, without me in tow, but I said “over my dead body”, so they brought
the staff of Children’s Hospital to me and showed me that I would have to feed
him with a squeezable bottle, squeezing to his sucks. One of the doctors told
me that Connor would never sing, whistle or suck out of a straw. And when a
resident came in and asked me what I did to give my son a birth defect, I was
horrified. I didn’t even take a sip of caffeine during the pregnancy! To further dampen the happiness that should’ve
been as bright as a light house, I was having problems walking because I couldn’t
feel my leg. The spinal had done
permanent damage to my nerves.

But holding that baby boy made it all worth it. And with
each surgery he had to endure, he was strong and mature even at such a small age, but his soul old and wise. His
grandma used to say she never saw such a sober baby. He smiled only when it was
worth it. But he was happy in his soul, in his heart.

Today, Connor Drake turns 15 years old, and like most
parents, I wonder where the time went. I
would give anything to turn back the hands of time and not worry about the
senseless things I did back then. Laundry will always be there. Dishes will
too. It is just with a blink of an eye and they grow so old that they don’t
want to be held, hugged or calmed. They believe they know what is best, even
when you know that the path they are walking is the wrong one, or the wrong one
right then. I am lucky because Connor
still gives me hugs and still sits with me. He even comforts me when I feel
sad, just like he knows I will do when he is melancholy. I couldn’t have asked for a better child,
other than his sister, my daughter, Micaela.

On this day, April 8, 2012, I wish my son and my friend, the
happiest of birthdays.